


Harry's Homebrew

by Clippy_Bandit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Buddies, Crack, Cute, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Happy, No Plot/Plotless, No Romance, No Smut, One Shot, Sweet, a bit of a meme really, drarry if you squint, mild swearing, pain free, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clippy_Bandit/pseuds/Clippy_Bandit
Summary: Harry sighed and shook his head.“It’s nothing”“Doesn't look like nothing. It looks like a bloody container of wee beneath your bed.” Draco gave a laugh and attempted to peer closer.“Piss off, its not piss.” Harry scoffed, trying to fold the sheets back down over the apparatus only to have Draco whip them back up, pulling the large container out from the bed.“Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and his trusty Bedpan, a truly iconic duo.” Draco proclaimed.





	Harry's Homebrew

**Author's Note:**

> I'd call it crack if it wasn't so believably canon. Have fun!

Life at Hogwarts had just begun to stagger back to normalcy. 

The battle had cost the community much more than previously anticipated and so ‘cleaning up’ took the better part of several months, with wards being reformed, walls rebuilt and creatures returned to Hagrid's care. Funerals had to be held. Life had to be rethought, reality rechecked. Classes resumed eventually of course, with some having to be inventive as to minimise disruption while specialised aurors from the ministry painstakingly returned the school back to its former glory. The weather often mirrored the students gloom, stormy nights reflecting many of the children's first experience with grief and shock. Madam Pomfrey’s magic could only truly heal physical wounds, not the rotting ache that each student discovered within their hearts. 

In an effort to keep the students socially active and supported by each other as much as possible (and partially due to the castle’s structural damage) the Slytherin house was moved to the relatively untouched Gryffindor quarters. They all managed to fit with room to spare, as unsurprisingly a large amount of the student body had returned home to fretting families for the remainder of the year. Everyone knew someone who had perished, everyone had lost someone, and nothing could be done about the prolonged mourning process. 

So classes resumed quietly, attendance optional. 

Harry entered the senior Gryffindor/Slytherin sleeping quarters, dumping his books beside his case and dumping himself onto the four-poster bed with a sigh. He was alone in the dormitory, a small blessing. Rolling onto his side Harry gazed at the beds beside his, the one directly beside his belonging to the one and only Draco Malfoy. Its sheets were folded twice by the stacked pillows and deep moss colour bled into the shadows of the quiet room, a severe contrast to Ron’s the next along, which screamed ‘psychedelic pigsty’. Harry craned his head to gaze out of the nearest window, dismayed to find the rain had not yet ceased. 

Ah well. better take blessings when they come, Harry mused. 

His cloaked body slid off the bed as Harry crouched by its underside and peered into the darkness, assessing the apparatus beneath. He squinted in the dim and dusty cavity, pleased with the progress that has so far occurred. Hopefully today he’d be actually able to-

“What are you doing?” 

Harry startled, banging his head sharply on the oak frame of the bed. 

“Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to-” the voice trailed off. Harry turned, still crouched and nursing a sore spot on the back of his skull. Draco gave a half-hearted wave before refocusing on the contraption beneath the bed.

“Mind telling me what the fuck that is.”

Draco had gotten used to conversation with Harry after the two had readjusted to post-wizarding-war Hogwarts and come to the stark realisation that they actually had a lot in common, not to mention equal footing in many regards. This newfound camaraderie had also uncovered Draco’s hidden trait of being a keen conversationalist, especially when exploring subject areas he was not already a master at. As annoying as it sometimes seemed to Harry, the talk would always help in pulling him out of whatever emotional deluge he sunk into of an evening. 

Harry sighed and shook his head. 

“It’s nothing”

“Doesn't look like nothing. It looks like a bloody container of wee beneath your bed.” Draco gave a laugh and attempted to peer closer.

“Piss off, its not piss.” Harry scoffed, trying to fold the sheets back down over the apparatus only to have Draco whip them back up, pulling the large container out from the bed.

“Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and his trusty Bedpan, a truly iconic duo.” Draco proclaimed, gesturing to the pipes and bottles now in front of him. Harry sighed but began assessing the largest of the bottles, an old water-cooler barrel now three-quarters full of an amber liquid that bubbled ever so slightly. 

“This is malt.” Harry stated, pointing to a smaller jar, “and these are hops” shaking another jar which rattled lightly. “And this...this is Potter’s Home brew.” He smiled, gesturing to the large carboy of liquid.

“Have you lost your nut?”

“Its beer!” 

“Yeah, well it looks poisonous and nothing like butterbeer.”

“Muggle beer” Harry whispered, cradling the canister like a child. “Beautiful, sweet, alcoholic beer.” He kissed its lid. Draco makes a sound of exasperation at the gesture. Truth be told, Harry was particularly proud of this endeavour. With Hermione's research skills and Ron’s ability to source ingredients, the once-experiment had flourished to become an excellent coping mechanism. Not that Harry was oblivious to the unhealthy nature of such a thing as drinking while under the influence of crippling trauma but anything was better than looming hopelessness, regret and guilt. 

There was too much blood on his hands to not require a crutch to lean on. Harry reached under the bed and pulled out what looked like a valve of some sort.

“This is a spigot and it will deliver the sweet, sweet nectar from inside there” he pointed to the carboy, “into this glass” he picked up what looked like a glass stolen straight from Hog’s Head, “and then into our stomachs.” 

“Our stomachs? I am not a part of this.”

“Come off it Malfoy, you need this as much as I do. I put a lot of work into it and frankly it’d be nice to have company as I elegantly descent into drunken bliss. Now go lock the door. There isn't enough to go round.” Draco sighed, but locked the door anyway.

“You’re lucky I haven't strung up light bulbs and pured dirt under here to grow weed.” He heard Harry mutter as Draco returned to the bedside.

“What kinds of weed, like Mandrakes?” 

“...sure.”

-

Hours later, as students returned to the shared dormitory, the door to the senior boys room was opened with the help of a quickly muttered alohomora and Ron, Blaise and Neville peered into the darkness. The room was desolate apart from the slightest of noise emitting from Harry's curtain-drawn bed, sounding, if anything, pained. Feeling bold, Ron swept up to the bed and yanked the curtains apart, fearful for Harry's safety. It could have just been a nightmare but one could never be too careful. He gasped quietly. There Harry and Draco lay, Draco in the foetal position and harry slumped over a near-empty barrel, cross-legged and dazed.

“‘And frankly I don't CARE that crickets don't eat pickles and cheese” Harry slurred, leaning forward before whispering “it was the kindest gesture, the kindest gesture, ‘Dray.” He looked on the verge of tears, caught up in his own story. 

“Uhh Harry? Draco?” Ron asked, looked concerned but not entirely surprised. He had after all known of Harry's particular interest in brewing his emotions away. “What...What are you guys up to?”

"Look buddy, we don't wan’ any trouble” Draco mumbled from his curled up state. “We jus’ need more o’ this” pointing to the jug that Harry holds like a child. “And more o’ this!” He gestured vaguely to himself. 

“I don't know wether to be disappointed or impressed.” Zabini muttered from across the room. The pair of drunken seniors giggled at nothing in particular before returning to a conversation that seemed to revolve around a cricket caught in a storm. 

The next morning, Harry and Draco woke in a bundle on the floor, heads pounding and mouths dry, but happy. 

Harry lolled his head to the side so that Draco was in his view.

“Wanna help me brew some more?”

Draco threw a pillow. 

“Fuck that!”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't drink excessively and don't drink alone. Alcohol is not a crutch and will kill your brain if you try to make it one. 
> 
> Feel free to comment and kudos and CHEERS FOR STOPPING BY -clink-


End file.
